Summer Holidays
by Nekoian
Summary: England and his brothers are taking their summer holidays in France of all places. Rated for some bad language and horrible accents. OC: Those UK boys.
1. Chapter 1

One of the first stories I wrote using my UK brothers head-canons. Designed by a Northern Irish person who just wanted representation. It turns out it's hard to not create the rest of them as you go. Hopefully I'll get better at using them! England ends up stuck in France of all places during his summer holidays. OC Nations included: Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and perhaps the provinces of France if I continue. Hope you guys enjoy! I don;pt own Hetalia, I'm just a big lover of the UK! Rated for some very vile language and some horrible written accents.

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><p><strong>Summer Holiday.<strong>

England tapped his foot impatiently, that bastard France. Leaving them here at the stupid airport after saying he'd give them a lift. He looked back at his brothers glaring at them inside his mind. 'Let's go on holiday together this year!' Northern Ireland had insisted, probably given the idea by Wales, Scotland had insisted on France, because he was a traitor and an ass-hole and because France was usually not too hot for him, The redhead was currently applying sun cream to his face, offering it to Northern Ireland, who didn't look interested, Wales went about applying it for him. England decided he hated this already. There was a reason people had brothers it was so you could ignore them.

"When did France say he was getting here?" England snapped, Wales looked up from Northern Ireland's now sun protected face and checked his watch.

"We arrived early England." He said. Shrugging his shoulders softly, "Just relax and enjoy the beautiful weather…" Wales said, smiling tentatively, wandering over and offering the tube of high factor sun lotion to his little brother, who snatched it harder than he intended. "I can't wait to see the sites. I haven't been to France in such a long time."

"I've never been to France. Ever." Northern Ireland said, he sounded excited, taking the same tone America had taken at that age when he was looking forward to something. Usually backstabbing. "I hear the food is really good here!"

"French dining is the best in the world…." Wales explained, smiling thankfully as England pushed the sun lotion back into his hands, he went to work applying it to his shoulders.

"I beg your pardon, English food is far superior." Wales shrugged leaning down to rub the sun lotion into his legs.

"Of course." Wales sounded like he was just trying to settle things easily, and England chose not to pick a fight. "It was nice of him to loan us an apartment, don't you think?"

"I thought you hated France?"

"I do hate France, but even I have to admit his country is very nice….if only to visit." That meant Wales had been going soft and was letting old rivalries drift out of his mind, figured. "You'll enjoy it here North, the beaches are actually warm."

"….Beaches can be warm?" Wales chuckled, then went to work sorting through their plane tickets, asking England to check them over for him, England had to rearrange things before sliding them back into the racing green travel folder. He missed Britain already. France was a hot confusing place where women didn't shave and all queuing standards slipped terribly.

"How much longer?"

"Half an hour." Scotland answered, he lifted their travel bags, one each and not too big, because British men never brought very much on holiday unless they were married, and none of them were, even if England often felt like he were married to Wales. He groaned at the idea. England decided to plop himself down on a bench, his belongings set beside him to avoid any close contact from anyone. His brothers seemed not too interested in him, at least until Northern Ireland discovered he had a bottle of apple juice in his bag and offered it out to him.

"No, thank you." England said, verging on polite. Going over the layout of the holiday in his mind, a few days at the apartment France had loaned them, then they were moving on to the French countryside, where they'd be staying in a little cottage, there was a lake and everything, where they could avoid each ether to their hearts content. He would rather go straight there. Just go fishing or hiking or read a book in the sun. He lamented his situation.

Scotland plopped down at the edge of the bench, maintaining as much distance as possible. They'd barely spoken a word to each other the entire trip and England wasn't starting a conversation now.

"Maybe we should give France a call, let him know we're here." Wales suggested, always the voice of disjointed reason.

"We can wait." Scotland mumbled, curling one leg over the other, England almost scoffed once more at his tartan shorts and hairy tree trunk legs. Scotland had scoffed at his beige ones and they'd called it a day. Northern Ireland chose to sit in the sun on the curb leaning backwards to look at England and Scotland, his eyes obscured by sunglasses he'd borrowed from America. They were aviators and they looked ridiculous.

"We're staying in Paris, right?"

"Right." Wales nodded, he'd always wanted to see Paris, had only been there briefly during the war…it hadn't been a leisurely visit then. "It's the capital you know."

"I'm not an idiot…everyone knows that." Northern Ireland snipped back. Wales adjusted the strap of his sports vest in a pointed effort to show he was ignoring his little brother. "…Is it nicer than my capital?"

"…Belfast?" England asked, his mouth curling in amusement. "Anywhere is nicer than Belfast, even this accursed frogs territory."

"Shut up, Belfast is awesome. Nicer than Cardiff or Edinburgh."

"Don't push yer luk Laddeh." Scotland warned. Who went on to grumble something derogatory about London, and England almost opened his mouth to protest but he was interrupted by a smooth voice. All four sets of eyes would flit to it.

"I em glad you all got 'ere so safely." France lowered his designer sunglasses and smiled as pleasantly as he could muster. "But…sil vous plais….refrain from murduring each ozer while you are 'ere." England puffed up.

"Can we just go, please? We've been waiting here long enough." He was already on his feet bag in hand and France bit back laughter at his attire, white T-shirt with a thin green sweater vest, beige shorts and some trainers with white socks. Northern Ireland joined him, a cheerful smile coating his face as he shoved the aviators up and perched them on his head, France took a careful step backwards.

"My….You're certainly gotten bigger…'aven't you?" He mused, he hadn't seen Northern Ireland in a few years, and he'd only been a pre-teen then, now he seemed to be at his full adult height, a good few inches off England or Wales, but his adult teeth had finally grown in where there had been gaps before, much more handsome than he had been as a youngster.

"I was hoping to be a lot bigger but…." Northern Ireland fidgeted where he stood, in his torn up denim quarter lengths and white T-shirt, a cute little shamrock with a cute smiley face was emblazoned there. "England says I'm stunted."

"Ignore 'im, 'e is just jealous."

"Thank you again for having us, France." Wales said, sounding awkward, he took a hold of England's shoulder to skilfully stop the Englishman diving forward and making a big fight out of nothing. England frowned, The Welshmen had chosen to wear a simple turquoise sports vest and some black shorts, a pair of trainers (Sans socks) and some simple sunglasses that he had looped around his neck on a cord. France cocked a brow, he approved. "Apologies for the inconvenience."

"Not a problem..Em only glad you can all be 'ere to….experience the tru delights of my country!"

"He means he wants to show off." England translated snidely, and Northern Ireland chuckled into his hand.

"Where the fook is yer car, Lad?" Scotlands voice interrupted, he looked irritated by the mindless banter. "I wanna load meh crap in and get going to yer pansy arse capital." France looked hurt for a second, then seemed to lightly brush the insult off.

"Of course, Ecosse." France said, beckoning them to follow. Wales cocked a brow and leaned in to mumble to England.

"Is France wearing white trousers and a pink T-shirt? Or is it just me?"

"I see it too, ignore him."

"…You'd think his legs would get awfully hot in there." Wales said, lifting his bag and struggling to get it over his arm, blinking as Scotland d took it off him and carried it along. He trotted pausing at the car-park as France pulled his keys from a pocket and his car unlocked, a fancy looking white family saloon, England noted in horror that the interior was pure leather.

"Is nice, non?" France cooed, turning with an artistic swoosh, the four Britons looked only vaguely impressed. "It's Japanese you know."

"….We know." Northern Ireland said. France turned to see Scotland was already dumping their bags nonchalantly into the boot. Slamming it shut much too hard and causing France to waggle his arms in a cease and desist motion.

"I'd much rather take a taxi…." Wales admitted, England shook his head at the idea.

"Doesn't the white get dirty really fast?" Northern Ireland asked, his fingers slid down the paint work it let out a harsh SQUEEEAK. France scowled at him.

"Oui, et is very sensitive to mooky finghers!"

"Then it's nay likely to last long around us." Scotland said. "Oor fingers ten' at be ver' mooky." France let out a humourless laugh.

"Just get in ze car." Wales frowned sliding in after his younger brother, England instantly rolled the window down. And leaned there when the car started to move. Scotland, who had sat in the front due to his bigger size simply folded his arms and ignored them. After a long period of awkward silence, in which France had asked each brother a question and received very blunt answers he finally flicked the radio on. Nothing was said until.

"French radio is lame." Northern Ireland spoke up. He'd rolled his window down too and now his aviators covered his face, auburn curls flicking in the wind.

"You mait 'ear it better if you closed ze windows."

"We can't." France scowled. British people were so…awkward. He decided not to make a fuss about it, it was hot, he assumed the British melted when they got hot. More silence awaited France, not that he didn't enjoy the simple act of driving, being at one with your country as it passed you by, not knowing the adventures you might face along the way.

"Excuse me….Boyo." France was snapped from his romantic thoughts by Wales's voice, which sounded less bouncy and sing song than usual. "Can we pull over?"

"Why would you want to pull ovar?" France asked. Wales didn't respond, and England cut in.

"Wales gets very travel sick." He said, simply, France paused for thought. "Vomits pretty much any time we go anywhere. Probably explains why he's such a bad driver."

"Fuck you, Boyo!" Wales said, then instantly clamped his hands over his mouth.

"I have a bag he could barf in." Northern Ireland said, pulling it from his pocket, offering it to Wales who accepted it and held his mouth to it.

"Nawt in my CAR 'e isn't!"

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><p>England patted his little brother on the back comfortingly, wincing at the painful wrenching sounds the Welshmen was making. France looked over the back of his car, glad at least that it had not been defiled…unlike his countryside.<p>

"He vomited on the plane too, I dunno how he does it…he didn't even eat anything this morning."

"Merci, I really wanted to know that." France grumbled. Canada had once vomited in his car, but that had been because he had the flu, and he felt more forgiving towards his beloved Canadian. He heard England and Wales start to talk again, then the vomiting started all over. This was really the nation who had thwarted his war efforts on no less than two occasions? throwing up at the side of the road because he couldn't handle a car journey?

France hunkered down on the ground, this was just marvellous.

"Don't be too mad at 'im Laddeh." Scotland said, he was puffing idly at a cigarette, France admired the Scotsman for a second before glancing away again. "Welshmen don't handle change very well."

"I fuckin' heard that, Boy-" Wales was cut short by his own stomach, though he seemed to just be retching now. England began to scold him tiredly, eventually walking back to the others with a dim weary expression.

"Is 'e nearly done?" Behind him, Wales collapsed.

"Yep, I think he's done."

"The heat must have made him even worse." England mused, stepping over to the brunette, his long ponytail and bangs were clinging to his forehead, his face was flushed and he was sweating profusely.

"…Is he dead?"

"…No." Soon Scotland had managed to unceremoniously dump Wales back into the car, he showed no signs of waking up, and France was glad, now Northern Ireland sat in the middle, so his older brother could be sick out the window if it was required.

"Hey France." Northern Ireland leaned forward slightly. "You guys eat snails and stuff, right?"

"Oui."

"Cool." England tugged N.I back into a sitting position. "Can we eat snails too England? It sounds gross."

"Why would you want to do something so disgusting?"

"I happen to be very open minded." Northern Ireland put on a holier than thou expression and folded his arms. "…..Also gross things are awesome."

"Yes….quite."

"Snails taste fine, Laddeh." Scotland chimed in, not bothering to look at either of his brothers.

"How do you know Scotland?" Northern Ireland asked curiously. There was no answer, and the teen turned to England and raised his brows questionably. England said nothing. "…Oh..I forgot…you must have been helping France during the war!" Northern Ireland nodded, while his troops had gone out he had stayed home on England's orders, to defend Britain and so England could ensure his little brothers safety…not that the little nation had really listened to him…but.

"Aye, that's it." France glanced to the Scot, cheeks reddening gently, choosing to keep his eyes focused. Sadly for him, Northern Ireland was younger and more sharp eyed than he'd expected.

"What's with you two?" He asked as he crinkled his face up and poked at Wales, who didn't react, Northern Ireland considered mentioning this to England, but he was too busy staring out the window. "If nobody is gonna tell me, that's fine…." He huffed, slumping back in his seat. Reminding England of himself when he'd been younger and less inclined to be a gentleman.

"Don't ask rude questions, Oliver." England scolded, Northern Ireland winced at his real name.

"Olivier?" France snorted. "That's is so j'dorable!" Beside him Wales mumbled something that sounded like 'Listen to your father, Oliver' and Northern Ireland was compelled to hit him, nothing happened. "Olivier…I like zat."

"He doesn't."

"I wonder why."

"Shut it Seamus."

"You shut it Art-er."

"Ladies, no bickering sil vou plais…Or I will make you disembark my skylark."

"You call your car the Skylark?" England said, expression one of amusement. "That's so stupid I can't even describe it."

"You call your car Betsy….Skylark is way cooler."

"Who's side are you even on _Oliver_?"

"Betsy is a dumb name, especially for an old Rolls Royce!"

"I thought 'e sold the old Roller…" Scotland said, leaning on his seat to look back at his brothers. "I liked that old thing."

"The racing green one with the red interior?" Scotland nodded. "He kept it…sold the silver one."

"Ohh." Scotland thought this over. "Wasn't that a Bentley?"

"No, It was a Rolls…you don't know anything." Northern Ireland responded, England nodded.

"He's right, it was a Roller. I sold it and the Beemer."

"I hate BMW's, too…GERMAN." Scotland said, making a strange motion with his hand that didn't really mean anything. He swatted at his short red hair, closing his ice blue eyes for a few secounds in thought.

"I dunno, they are pretty classy." Northern Ireland shrugged.

"I just got tired of looking at them, we all have stuff lying around in our garage we don't want anymore."

"Most people don't have classic cars." France smiled as the conversation went on, apparently the Britain brothers were fond of cars, he'd have to remember that!

"….When can I get a car?" Northern Ireland asked, his thick little eyebrows rising curiously.

"When you can afford one." England said, Northern Ireland rolled his eyes, biting his tongue about how America had been given one when he was old enough, and that dude had freaking _REBELLED_. "Besides you'd just set fire to it or crash it.."

"…I wouldn't…" Scotland looked to France, noticing the cheerful smirk on the blondes face, he allowed himself to ignore it. "What do you think Scotland?"

"Wales has no need for a car, how many times did he fail that fookin' test?"

"Fifteen."

"Holy jesos…"

"I swear I'll kill you all, boyo's" Wales' voice trickled out dimly, eyes fluttering briefly, before he curled himself up and fell back to sleep.

"….Idiot." England shook his head, he suddenly felt a little better about this holiday despite himself. "I suppose Wales never uses his…we'll talk about it when we get home. If you can behave." Northern Ireland grinned cheerfully at the older nation and made a 'cross my heart' symbol over his chest. England allowed himself a smile at this, he often forgot how young Northern Ireland was. But just like America, he'd grown up a little too quickly for the Englishmens liking. "Are we almost there?"

"Not even close." France said, tapping a rhythm out on the steering wheel. Suddenly Scotland perked up, reached into the back seat and forcefully smacked his two conscious brothers on the arm.

"Yelley car, nay returns."


	2. Settling in and getting drunk

I have been editing and fussing over this chapter endlessly, and decided it was time to simply publish it and set it out of my mind so I could work more on part three. Some parts still seem a little off, but ultimately I don't want to over-edit it. I hope my slightly poor writing isn't too much of a hindrance, and that my character work on England brothers (and England and France themselves) are not too bad. I was considering using some more OC in here if there was a call for it, but only if there is a real need. Probably Ile-De-France or Britagne (two of the French regions) Perhaps they are best left for something that focuses more on the regions, provinces and counties? who knows? I hope you all enjoy and I appreciate all the faves and comments I've received so far! Apologies again for the language and any confusion there is with accents or bad grammar. I wasn't sure where to start making a list that would help everyone wade through my writing. But I will consider going through all three chapters and adding one for reference if I can find a way of doing so without intrusion. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I liked writing it! A big thank you to all of ye!

I suppose a names list might be useful for you all:

Shamus: Scotland.  
>Oliver: Northern Ireland<br>Dylan: Wales.  
>Niall: Ireland.<p>

To MAKEMESOMETEA specifically: Deep appreciation to you for input, I hadn't considered playing Northern Ireland as anything but the stroppy teen to contrast England's fusty old man and your headcannon certainly seems like something to consider writing about! Glad you found chapter one funny. Hopefully my sense of humour and character design don't fall flat this time around.

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><p><strong>Summer Holidays: Settling in.<strong>

Scotland set the bags down and analysed the French apartment, it was all, white and airy and he hated it instantly. Listened as Wales slumped helplessly onto the sofa. England was already exploring, marking each fault he found openly to the increasingly irritated looking France who took it upon himself to follow and defend his apartment, reminding England that he'd let them stay here for free out of his unreserved kindness. Northern Ireland had stepped out onto the balcony and blinked over at the Eiffel tower, of which they had an excellent view the sun was shining and he watched a pair of little birds prance up and down the tree that grew just a little bit away.

"…It's bigger than I expected." He commented as France stepped up beside him, an arm arm swooping dramatically towards his marvellous monument.

"Ah Irelande du Nord,…you are in Paris, A city of romance and beauty. Where the dreams of young lovers come true, and my Eiffel tower, she oversees it all! Truly a beautiful thing. Oui?" Northern Ireland pulled an indignant face.

"Romance is lame." He mumbled, stepping away from France in a bid to avoid catching whatever cooties the older nation might be harbouring he wasn't fond of such drivel and turned his attention to the Eiffel tower, scrutinising it. "I bet I could make a better one in Belfast."

"..You certainly take after Angleterre…don't you, Irlande du Nord?" France grumbled, suddenly wondering what age Northern Ireland really was, the idea of a holiday romance should have been at the top of his priorities! Not attempting to irk the Frenchman!

"….The Eiffel tower is a disgusting shape." England chimed in, France hadn't even noticed him step up beside them and England shielded his eyes from the sun to let France know he didn't approve of the heat either. "Why must everything in your ridiculous country be phallic?"

"Get yer filfy mind out of ze gutterh!" France snapped. "l'Eiffle tower is a symbol for everything true and good about France, you are simply too uncouth to understand! Besides, your BIG BEN…" France raised a hand to his mouth coyly. "Quite phallic, non?"

"How dare you!" Northern Ireland frowned as the two older nations started to argue, drowning it out in a practiced fashion and being only dimly aware of the verbal fight growing louder and fiercer till the older nations came to blows, Northern Ireland simply cocked his head back and forth, bottle green eyes glinting carefully, he rather liked l'Eiffle tower, though he struggled to place exactly why.

"I don't think it looks like a dick…" He said, so suddenly that France and England stopped in their tracks, England was yanking on Frances hair. While France had both hands clutching defensively as England's sweater vest. "It looks more like an arrow head….or a dagger."

"…..Excusez-moi?"

"The Eiffel tower…it looks like a weapon of some kind." The redhead smiled at the thought. "I like those."

"…..You dropped him when he was a baby, didn't you?" France asked, England punched him.

"I did no such thing! He just came out this way!" France frowned and dragged England away, leaving Northern Ireland to roll his eyes, made a mental note to spit in England's tea later.

"Angleterre, I have a question…."

"….I assure you the answer will be no." England said, looking suspicious.

"Non…is about Irlande du Nord…has he…." France paused, considering his words carefully for once. Tilting his head to glance at the teenager who stood o his tiptoes to get a good look at the view of the street below. "ever 'ad…how you say….romantic relationship?" France waggled his arms when England glared at him. "I do not mean it in ZAT way…" England bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

"That'd hardly be any of your business. I'm going to make some tea."

"I do not 'ave any."

"I packed some." England said, skulking into the kitchen, the nerve of France, getting his nose all up in his families business. "Lousy Frog, didn't even think to stock up on tea." England grumbled, noting that the kitchen was very modern, with marble countertops, stainless steel fittings and white walls, his English sensibilities didn't like it. He prodded at the kettle, not used to these electric things, be still used an old fashioned one, finally found the button on the handle and smacked it down, heading back out to retrieve his tealeaves, he supposed France didn't even have a proper tea strainer.

"…There are only three bedrooms." Scotland said suddenly, as England went through his old union flag themed travel case passing by handkerchiefs, boxers and an American t-shirt to get to them. The Scotsman wandered over, hands in pockets. Deflating slightly when it became clear his little brother hadn't been listening, though a Tupperware box was extracted with a look of victory on England's smug little face. Then he seemed to realise he'd been spoken to.

"…Beg pardon?"

"I just counted." Scotland said, arms folding. "Three bedrooms. Two rooms with one, one with two."

"…Yes well…I'm not sharing."

"Me either." Wales said nothing about this as he lay unconscious on Frances perfect white sofa, leaving a puddle of saliva there for future enjoyment. The Welshmen simply pawed at the air with a single hand and mumbled, his long hair now sticking out all over the place. England pulled out his camera and took a picture for posterity. "I suppose that's that settled." England wound his camera around to the next shot, first picture on any given film should be Wales after severe travel sickness, a personal rule…unless Wales wasn't around, then it was America looking sad. Or France in pain. Any of those situations.

"What's settled?" Northern Ireland asked from his spot at the balcony, France watching the exchange with limited interest, the teenager skulked inside and France arched his brow. Northern Ireland was a little short and stocky, but he had a nice arse.

"You and Wales are sharing a room, you're the youngest." England said. Northern Ireland pulled a disguised face. "It's only fair."

"But he puts stuff in weird places and gets all paranoid when he's changing."

"North, Scotland and I already called it. Sharing with Wales won't be so bad." England looked at the unconscious Welshman who had begun to snore softly.

"_Tossers_."

"You four certainly are…..dysfunctional." France commented, between Wales' inability to not puke and Northern Ireland apparent sexual attraction to dangerous things he came to the conclusion that England and Scotland were the normal ones in their family, and they were arguing over who got which room; like _children_.

"We like to think of ourselves as diverse." Northern Ireland said stepping back out beside the Frenchman, as the fight between England and Scotland boiled down to petty insults and mild violence.

"Northern Ireland…There is something I'd like to ask you." France said, content that England wasn't listening; caught up as he was in a headlock from the larger Scotland. The auburn glanced away from the scenery only for a second to show he was listening. " Do you like boys...or girls….because France is full of plenty of each…"

"Boys…..girls are lousy at football, they don't tackle as hard. And England says I'm not allowed to hit them." France gaped, hand smooshing into his face in disbelief.

"Zat iz not exactly….what I meant." England and Scotland had stopped arguing for the moment, watching the exchange with a degree of amusement that France might have found unsettling if he'd been paying attention. "I mean…."

"He's talking about sex, Lad." Scotland said simply, England's eyes widened into something akin to green saucers. Northern Ireland pulled a blank expression, as if he'd never considered such a thought.

"Don't ask him so suddenly…he's far too young to discuss such things."

"Too young me fookin' arse." Scotland snapped back. France looked to Northern Ireland again, who seemed to be thinking this over carefully.

"Nope." He said finally. France blinked. "Don't think about sex." The three older nations stared at him long and hard. "Only violence…sometimes food." Often video games. Not that he wasn't aware of sex, the internet was a wonderful thing. Northern Ireland just didn't quite see what all the fuss was about.

"…I'm concerned on many levels." France mumbled out loud, though England pulled an indignant, if not incredibly embarrassed expression.

"He's just a little stunted. And there's no reason to be talking about such filth to him in the first place."

"I am not stunted, ye cheeky fookin' basta'd." Northern Ireland huffed, looking very self conscious, he moved inside. Lifted his bag (it was black and he'd drawn all over it in tipp-ex) and stormed into his assigned bedroom, muttering incomprehensibly in his Belfast accent.

"Good job, England, now he's all fucken' peshed aff." Scotland grumbled.

"It's Frances fault." England shrugged. If he got concerned every time Northern Ireland threw himself into a hissy fit he'd be a simpering mess like Wales."I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here?"

"…I put a few things in ze freezer…" France replied, watching England wander towards the kitchen just as the kettle went off. "I ded nawt know what you British types like."

"We'll make do." England grumbled, muttering under his breath. "Does anyone want any tea?"

"Aye, make some for Wales too…." Scotland responded, leaning down to study the brunette, France scrunched up his face at the pool of drool that was forming on his expensive piece of furniture. "Ah think he's dehydratin'." Scotland raised his hand then smacked Wales on the cheek hard enough to make France wince. Wales woke with a start and rolled onto the floor with a loud crash.

"What did you do that for!" He grumbled as he lay in a helpless ball. "Hurts so much, _Boyo_." Scotland hunkered down, Wales peeking up at him, one eye tightly shut as pain coursed through his cheek, blooming a painful red colour.

"Suck it up." Wales struggled to his feet, shaking violently. Scotland used a finger to stop him collapsing again. "Unless ye wan me at hold yer wee babeh hand all the way te the kitchen," Scotland grinned maliciously as Wales pulled a vile expression and meekly pushed his elder brother aside, sidestepping France blindly as he went. France blinked his eyes as Scotland stood up and cracked his knuckles.

"You are such a caring big brother." He said arms folding, Checking the time, not that he had plans, he'd thrown his schedule aside when he'd learned the UK family were willing to spend time here, gone to great lengths to make sure things were perfect.

"We've never 'zactly spoonfed each other." Scotland shrugged. France nodded, he'd witnessed in his younger days the violence they'd inflicted on each other. Scotland had been incredibly rugged and tough back then and France had to say he still admired the Scots hardy nature, but he'd never admit that where anyone could hear.

Especially not his younger brothers, of whom France had decided, Scotland had too many.

"Oui….at any rate." A lock of long blonde hair was played with, blue eyes glinting carefully. "Would you like to 'ave dinner with me later?" Scotland looked suspicious, rolling the thought over like a butter candy, savouring the flavour of the offer before responding.

"I fink me brothers were gonna eat here." France blinked, "They da ney wanna be dragged around all o'er." The Frenchmen stared incredulously at the larger man, Scotland seemed to notice, fidgeted.

"Zat is fine…they are not invited." He took a step closer. Smiling coyly, Scotland glared at him, his cheeks turning red. "Unless you want to spend your time with them…that is fine too." France's smile widened as the colour spread down Scotland's neck and flushed his ears slightly.

"Ye know me too well….I don' like it." Scotland said, rolling his eyes. The Frenchman simply shrugged, toyed with the pink fabric of his shirt.

"If you are naught interested…I can always make other plans." Actually he would do no such thing, because he knew Scotland far too well just as the Scotsman had said. "You can stay 'ere…with your _brothers_." He put the same emphasis on 'brother 'that he might do on the word 'bacteria'.

"…Where were you thinking of going?"

"Nowhere fancy. Just a place." Scotland considered it. Fidgeted nervously, the red colour on his face deepened. "You just have to wear….something nice."

"Fine." Scotland shrugged. Turning towards the kitchen. "I'm going to get some tea." France nodded, watching him go before allowing himself to celebrate quietly, a little silly dance of victory. He startled, realising that Northern Ireland was opening the door right behind him. His freckled face contorted in a mix of confusion and amusement.

"…..The fuck?" France drew himself up into a more dignified pose.

"Just 'appy to be surrounded by friends." France said dismissively. Northern Ireland pulled an indignant face. Confusion creeping into his voice.

"….We're friends?"

"Of course!" France said, he was still buzzing from having a date tonight…he'd had so few these days.

"Listen….I was wondering if I could ask you something." Northern Ireland stepped out of his room, the door closed quietly behind him and eyes skimming the area in case anyone should walk in. Northern Irelands shoulders were hunched up and his stride slightly stiff.

"Oui."

"Well…" Northern Ireland proceeded to turn the same shade of pink as Scotland had done, green eyes flitting anywhere but Frances face. This, France thought, was unusual behaviour even for the unpredictable youngster. "It's kind of….._dumb_." Frances eyebrows rose, lips pursing.

"…..Oui?" His interest peaked, various thoughts on what this question involved popping into his mind, perhaps something deviant! "I em all ears."

"_Romance_." He spat the word like it had bad mouthed his mother. Not that he really had one mind you. "I want to know about…love and _romance_." The taller blonde had to bite back laughter, partly due to the fact he was taken by surprise. Mainly because Northern Ireland looked a lot like a very young Scotland as he shifted from one foot to the other nervously.

"Love….there isn't much to know…It simply means a strong feeling of affection." France explained, and Northern Ireland dimmed, because he knew that. "Romance is the way in which you share that love and show it to the world."

"Oh…" That sounded dismissive and disappointed and France frowned. "So….what if I wanted to…show my affection towards others?" He asked, his voice uncharacteristically small and fragile. France felt himself flush, was it possible Northern Ireland was coming to him for…_OH LA LA._

"Are you….hoping to become more _intimate _with someone?" France asked, he looked shocked and delighted. Northern Ireland of course, found this behaviour unsettling, but decided to forge ahead anyway.

"I suppose intimate is another word for it…" He mumbled hoarsely. "But I don't really know where to start…"

"Well...it doesn't help that you have no real interest in such things. Perhaps we can find a way of kick starting et." A slim finger scratched Frances perfect cheek in thought.

"You can do stuff like that?" Northern Ireland mumbled.

"Oui, With the correct tools." France thought this over, and Northern Ireland tilted his head, _tools_, he had never heard of anyone using 'tools' to befriend other nations let alone kick starting such a thing in the first place. A car maybe or a busted boat…but not relationships.

"What kinds of tools?"

"Books, Magazines, DVDs…" France thought carefully. "I'll be right back petit frère.." France patted the teens shoulder, walked out the door and down the wide stairs of the apartment block leaving Northern Ireland to wonder what the heck France had called him or what he was on about at all. Still felt lost when France reappeared a few moments later with a massive stack of magazines. "Voila!" The stack was placed into the short teens arms and he cast an eye over the titles.

Fauché, Durcir_, Obscène. _

Northern Irelands thick British eyebrows rose cryptically. Not sure what to make of the various pictures of nudity on each of the magazines covers, which seemed to become stranger and stranger as they went by, ending with a nude man cradling a chicken. "….What are these for?"

"You ar' so simple, _Petit_." France grinned coyly. Hands placed on hips and lips pursing anew. "They are to help stimulate your intimate feelings." He watched his young companion idly flick one of the books open and look over the pictures with disinterest. "I wasn't sure if you preferred boys or girls…so I brought you a selection."

"…..I already told you, I'm not interested in sex." Northern Ireland grumbled.

"But you said…that you wanted to be more _intimate_…oui?"

"Well yes but not like that, idiot." France deflated. "I meant…like making friends with the other natio-DUDE, what the fuck?" Northern Ireland tried in vain to step away from the magazine he was holding, despite his firm grip on the paper. "Why would anyone put another guys dick in their-That's so _disgusting_." Although the gentle flush that spread across his cheeks were at odds with the hoarse, disgruntled tone of his voice. France smirked.

"Do nawt knock it till you try it."

"As if." Northern Irelands blush spread and he closed his eyes, though the magazines remained in his grasp. France wondered if the teen was really so sheltered. Knowing England, it was pretty likely. "That's _gross _even for you."

It was just then that England stepped out of the kitchen with a mug pressed to his lips, mid tea sip. He blinked at the pair who eyed him blankly, then his eyes caught sight of the magazines, he choked on his beverage causing a spray of tea to be erupt from his lips. "What the bloody hell?" Northern Ireland turned from pink to bright red and turned sideways as if not looking at England might make him go away. A tactic many had tried before in vain. "What on earth are you doing?"

A valid question. "Educating your little brother on mature things, since you are so clearly incapable." France snorted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You 'eard." France waved him away and England stormed forward.

"How dare you!" He quickly reprieved Northern Ireland of the reading material France had supplied. "I don't care what way you teach your own but I'd be grateful if you didn't corrupt the mind of my little brother!"

"I'll 'ave you know he asked for my expertise!" England scoffed.

"I…It was a mix up?" Northern Ireland stammered.

"A mix up? And what pray tell kind of mix up could it possibly be?" England tapped his foot impatiently. "Go to your room….I want to talk to France privately."

"That's not fair…" Northern Ireland huffed. "I just wanted to find out how he…" England glowered and the teenager backed off, before skulking back into his tempraty bedroom and slamming the door so hard it seemed to shake the foundations.

"If you try anything funny with him I'll rip your eyes eye, accommodation be damned."

"He needs to learn at some point Angleterre….and there is nobody better to teach the young nations of this world about se-"

"NO I'm sure he has better taste than you anyway…_FROG_."

"He seemed rather interested to me." France smirked and bit his lower lip. "And he is growing to be quite handsome, oui?" Englands fist rose threateningly. Until the kitchen door opened.

"What is going on out here?" Wales' voice hissed. "Can't you try and be civil England, honestly?" England huffed slightly.

"Merci, Galle…" France said sweetly. Wales frowned as he drew closer, pausing suddenly, fingers curling with shock and face flushing as he focused on England and the armful of gentlemen's pleasures in his hands..

"England, is that…Why do you have so much…so many…Is that _porn_?" England almost dropped them in realisation and blushed angrily.

"Bloody France!"

"He _gave _you those?" Wales looked completely bemused. "Why on earth would you accept them?"

"I left them lying around, Angleterre was returning them to me." France explained quickly, England hastily lifted the books, making a point of not looking at them before thrusting them back into Frances hands.

"Bloody frog, watch where you put things like this.." England warned. Finally Scotland pottered out of the kitchen, ignoring the tense atmosphere and wandering up to France, two mugs in his hands. He passed one to the Frenchmen, and the blonde smiled when he realised it was coffee. He took a sip and nearly gagged.

_Instant coffee. _

"Should we do something after dinner, England?" Wales asked in exasperation, there was really no point in picking a fight with France when Scotland was around as he was pre-programmed to buy into everything the handsome blonde ever did or said. Even if France unwittingly caused world war three or unleashed a flesh eating virus or set Scotland's bagpipes alight.

"Like what…there's nothing to do in France." France scoffed, forcing himself to continue drinking the tar Scotland had provided. Taking the stack of magazines and holding them underarm, Scotland raised a curious brow at this but said nothing.

"You could visit I'Eiffel tower. Get some delicious French pastry…..go shopping and improve those 'idious outfits." England, Scotland and Wales each looked at themselves and France beamed.

"We can go drinking." England said simply. Wales nodded, "I _need _to go drinking."

"I think I saw an Irish pub somewhere…"

"Irish?"

"There's always an Irish pub," Wales said. Scotland glanced away. "By the way, Scotland…" France caught the sinister look on Wales' face and the way Scotland's expression twisted bitterly. "What exactly was it you needed to do…here in France?"

"….None of your fuckin' beeswax." He snapped. Wales snorted with laughter and England joined in. "I spose you're taking the bairn with you?"

"He's more than old enough to come with us." England said. France frowned then checked his watch.

"I hate to love you and leave you gentlemen, but I really must be going….We must do ze lunch before you go to the cottage." Wales and England looked so indignant that France thought it might be painful.

"I'd rather choke." England rasped. Drinking his tea.

"Thanks for the accommodation though, much appreciated. Apologies for almost throwing up in your car earlier." Wales said. France opened his mouth to comment, decided not to bother and waved. Leaving the brothers alone for the evening. Wales plopped down onto the sofa and pulled a disgusted face, slid his hand under his rear and groaned…sitting in his own saliva, how dignified.

"What do you boyos say I fix us up something to eat…" Wales mumbled.

"Do you want some help?" England asked, sounded hopeful. Wales nodded.

"Just don't burn it like you always do."

"Oh like you never burn anything….wise arse." Scotland watched them go, then sauntered into his room, to look through his clothing and worry tirelessly about his appearance.

* * *

><p>Scotland had said nothing as he walked out the door, Northern Ireland was poking at his food, it was badly burned and anyone else would have cowered away from it due to the fact it smelled suspiciously like leeks and maple syrup. But he ate it anyway. England turned on the television to watch the football, England versus France, the Englishman shouted profanities at the screen as the Goalkeeper seemed to invite the French player to score. 1-nil<p>

"Bloody hell." He grumbled, Wales took a drink from the beer bottle, Guinness much to England and Wales' displeasure but beggars weren't being choosers especially when England's had ended up all over the posh cream carpet from the blondes overzealous emotions causing his arms to flail wildly .

"It's not even half time and you're already losing…."

"We beat the Italians!"England hissed like a python. Northern Ireland went to work mashing his boiled potatoes. "This should be easy."

"….We should get a football…we can play when we reach the country." Northern Ireland said, as much as he liked watching the football, he preferred to play. Even if England tended to be a show off about it. England's bright green eyes lit up at the idea.

"That's a good idea!"

"You both know I prefer Rugby." Wales grumbled.

"Rugby is a game for posh boys." England chided.

"And Americans who don't know any better." England and Northern Ireland clinked their beer bottles together in quiet victory.

"OH COME ON REFEREE." England snorted suddenly. "He's blind I tell you…completely blind!" Wales rolled his eyes and went back to cutting up his lamb, taking a bite as the table shook from England banging his fist on it.

"You get way too worked up about this silly ga-HOLY SHIT, That wasn't even a foul!" Northern Ireland blinked at Wales, he was as bad as England at times. "Those French bastards fall down if there's a gust of fucking wind…"

"Do you really think I'm stunted?" Northern Ireland asked suddenly, England's chewing paused and his eyes diluted in such a manner that it failed to inspire any confidence in Northern Ireland at all.

"Well….no…not really. I mean…" He said. Then leaned forward as the striker approached the goal with the ball, kicking it square into the back of the net. "YES!" He knocked his fork off the table as he stood and cheered. "Go on my son!"

"England.." Wales pulled a face. "You know they won't win…" England sat, glowering at Wales, leaning towards him.

"Bet you they can." Wales glowered back. Pulling out his wallet and slapping down a twenty.

"You're on, Boyo." England did the same. Northern Ireland allowed himself a chuckle at his older brothers before shifting into a frown, his food suddenly didn't seem very appetising.

"I don't want to be fucking stunted.." He said grumpily, frowning at them as they stared at him dumbly.

"It's not a bad thing to have no interest in…England?..." Wales mumbled, Tilted his head towards England who was entirely distracted by his football game. "Help me out here, Boyo."

"You're not stunted…you're just like me when I was your age." England said dutifully. "I didn't want to shag everything in sight and I turned out just fine."

"So if I don't shag everything…I'll end up like you?"

"Exactly."

"Jesus Christ I better get started then!" Northern Ireland whined in self pity, England started swearing at the TV. "He's not even listening to me!"

"Listen North…everyone develops at their own pace…it's honestly not something to worry about." England drew his attention back to the discussion.

"I don't know…he's almost fully grown now."

"…._Lloger_!" Wales hissed. "If you're not going to be helpful then keep your stupid mouth shut!" England had his eyes on the game again Northern Ireland proceeded to drink the rest of his alcohol in a bid to numb the pain.

"I'm just going to fuck France and get it over with." Northern Ireland moaned and that caught England's attention.

"No you bloody won't!" England near shouted. "don't even consider such fucking nonsense!" England caught a striker kicking the football into the back of the net, got to his feet and cheered, "YES! GO ON MY LAD." 1-1

"I'm getting mixed signals here if I'm honest." The Northern Irish teen said cheerlessly.

"Well trust me when I say sleeping with France won't make things better." Wales grumbled, and England nodded along distractedly. "Even if it seems like fun at the time." England nodded in distraction again.

"Fun?" Northern Ireland cocked a brow and Wales nodded.

"Heaps of it…" England threw a dirty look at Wales.

"Don't encourage him."

"I'm not saying he should…." Wales set his second empty bottle beside the first. "You boyos want another?" England held up his bottle, still half full, Northern Ireland nodded, wincing as one of the French footballers was knocked to the ground, found himself enjoying at the ensuing fight.

"You should slow down, Wales…last time you drank too much you ended up in my lounge, crying."

"We're nowhere near your lounge…besides, I only ended up crying because you were naked." England waved him away into the kitchen, the sound of him rummaging through the fridge just about drowned out by the overzealous cheering of England.

"YES, FUCKING TWO-ONE!" 1-2

Wales wandered back in, handing his little brother his second bottle of beer of the evening. Guinness. "Oh man, that was an epic tackle!" Northern Ireland commented, as the French player rolled around on the grass in what appeared to be agony.

"He nearly broke his leg.."

"…._Cool_." England gave Northern Ireland a curious look

"You ever think it's things like that, that scares off the other nations?"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2, part two: Getting drunk.<strong>

The trio sat in the Irish pub, listening to the Irish bartender ramble on, as Irish people did, about Irish things. He mentioned having family in England and Wales, called Northerners a pack of assholes, then Northern Ireland had opened his mouth and the insult had been shoved aside with a laugh.

"It's a shame you aren't with a Scottish fella. Then we'd be a full set." England winced, yes he'd heard every 'Paddy' joke in existence, it still made his bones hurt. Hoped none would be uttered.

"He's off…..possibly making love to a Frenchman." Wales commented, he was already drunk, but chirpy and he and the Irishman laughed heartily. England and Northern Ireland scowled at their brown haired brother, choosing to ignore him. The pub was typical Irish fare, Dingy but upbeat, a range of old Irish artefacts lining the walls, and boring pictures of Irish things like the countryside and leprechauns. Northern Ireland decided that South would probably like it here, since there was tin whistle music playing in the background. He looked back to his brothers, Wales was still chirping away, this time to England about how much he liked being in France, and that it wasn't an innuendo, and the teen smiled as Wales' optimistic attitude seemed to cheer England up, even if it was only an upgrade from git to grump. He wondered what Scotland was doing right now, assumed it might be something manly, like HIKING or throwing big things at smaller things until the smaller things proceeded to get even smaller and much more dead. This idea satisfied him, and he broke into a handsome little smile at the prospect.

"…What's got you all smiley?" England asked, Northern Ireland finally heard the alcohol on England's voice, frowning when England looped an arm around him in a well meaning manner. There had been a point in his life where England giving him a hug might have pleased him, but he'd been small and desperate for any positive attention at all, seeing as his own people had often gave him the impression they downright hated him.

Now all physical contact served only to make him anxious and edgy. England didn't notice and was forcefully pushed away, a surge of long forgotten violent tendencies threatened to leap forward from the teen; He stopped himself. They'd banned him from drinking once…they could do it again.

Then he'd have to stay home and do his drinking….and that would lead only to crying, breaking things and an eventual overly emotional phone call. "Nothing." Northern Ireland snapped, England frowned. His mood took a noticeable nosedive.

Finally Wales withdrew from whatever thought had left him ignorant to the world and made a cheerful noise. "Don't start a fight you two…we're on holiday and Scotland isn't here!"

"Piss off." England grumbled, the Irish barman returned to top them up, and Northern Ireland was about to take a swig from his pint glass. "Don't be such a grouch." England said, he swung his arm to point at Northern Ireland with his bottle and splashes of it flew all over the bar counter. "Wales is right…we're on hol'day….Yer not still worried about all that…FRENCH business, right." England's accent made a right turn at Liverpool before getting off in Wolverhampton. "Because you know…SEX is overrated anyway."

"Arthur, keep your fucking voice down, Boyo."

"It's the TRUTH…not that you'd know…you celibate pansy."

"Oh..OH like you're any better!" Wales poked England so sharply with his finger that Northern Ireland half expected it to go all the way through , leaving England with a massive hole in his chest cavity. "Yer sex life is only better than mine because you happen to own a hot water bottle, so piss aff." England grumbled incoherently, and Northern Ireland shook his head, he wondered if the two brothers would talk like this to each other more often if they were convinced to drink during the day.

"Hey, hey, Dylan.." England raised a hand, holding his bottled out with a mischievous gleam in his eye, his lips tugged into a loose, drunken smile. He cleared his throat then piped out in a singsong voice: "Taffy was a Welshman, taffy was a thief, Taffy came into my house and stole a side of beef!"

"Dos i chwarae efo dy nain!" Wales paused, and Northern Ireland wondered if he might physically punch England. "Cauc cle wyneb cachau ewythr cachau!" Another pause as England's grin grew wider,

"Pisho bant…" England leaned on the bar counter, looking very smug with himself and the long haired brunette drew himself back in intoxicated surprise. "Jess cause I stopped you speaking that drivel all tha time dosen mean I upped and forgot how at talk et." Wales' round face contorted into something of a vaguely hurt expression though the amount he'd been drinking quickly made him look angry and he raised both middle fingers at his little brother.

"Shut your mouth you over inflated, bossy, shit for brained, windbag." England paused, his nose was starting to redden and Wales turned away, apparently pleased with his statement. England burst into laughter as Wales went about sloppily fixing his hair. It now hung in loose spiky waves around his shoulders.

"You're such a wanker." England said, before looking to Northern Ireland again, as if only just remembering that they'd been talking and considering that England had been drinking cider since he arrived, it probably wasn't far from the truth. "You know what…I wouldn't mind if you shagged Francis…if it'd get this nonsense out of yer system."

"Oh my God." Northern Ireland mumbled, allowing himself to down the rest of his pint, in an effort to cloud out the idea.

"I mean…EVERYBODY does it eventually…Shamus does it….I'm pretty sure Dylan has….." He turned to Wales, who nodded with something that looked like nonchalance mixed with shame. "See…Dylan has done it…I think Matthew has….Alfred…Antonio….Gilbert….Even I'm not sure I haven't." The jukebox started to play a choppy version of 'Londonderry air.' and Northern Ireland tried his hardest to focus on it. Found that he couldn't.

"…Can I get another drink?" Northern Ireland was horribly aware that each of those mental images would stick with him for a while. Lingering awkwardly in his mind only to pop out if he spoke to those nations at any given time. The barkeep, who looked like he was feeling sorry for him set one more drink down.

"I think he would too, we're all getting really OLD…Like...really. _Really _old…" England tipped back in his stool, as if this information had made him start to calculate the years. "He probably doesn't get many virgins!" Northern Ireland choked on his drink before he hid his head in his hands in an effort to conceal himself from the faces now turning towards him.

"I swear to fookin' god Arthur, if you don't shut your mouth about this, I'll put you in fookin hospital.."

"I em jus' sayin'." There was a long pause, and Northern Ireland dreaded every second of it. "…'E says you have a nice arse."

"'e get's it from Niall." Wales agreed. "Not you; that's for sure." England looked idly to his own rear, then pulled an accusing expression, apparently insulted by this comment.

"….Are you humpin' him or something?...because I've never looked too hard at any of your arses." There was an awkward pause, apparently Wales had heard half of that in another language because his eyebrows knitted together like a well made jumper.

"What?"

"Are you and Niall having relations of a sexual nature?"

"You're suggesting I…me….would have sex with our oldest brother…and that he wouldn't kick me up the arse for suggesting it?"

"It's not his foot I'm asking about."

"We're brothers you twat. That's disgusting." The twinge in Wales' voice suggested defensiveness. Though Northern Ireland was already stuck with the mental image regardless. So far he was having a wonderful night.

"We're not technically related anyway…" England sniffed lightly, almost as defensively.

"Are you sayin' you WAN' us to be fuckin' or something', Arthur….because I'll be honest…that'd be more worrying than if we were."

"I'm saying no such thing!" England shrugged his shoulders so lazily that they almost threatened to drop off. "Yer both ugly as shit at any rate….Northern Ireland and I are the attractive ones in this family…isn't that right, sport?" Northern Ireland said nothing, his head still hidden somewhere deep in the recesses of his freckled arms, hoping for a quick and shameless death. "Right….it explains why Francis wants us so much."

"….Tell me…Boyo…do YOU want to sleep with 'im or something? Because you're pretty fucking set on the concep' as a whole."

"Fuck no. I hate that stupid frog"

"Then fuckin' give over..'n stop encouraging North to sleep with the bastard….I'm not even sure where Francis has BEEN. Probably rummaging through bins for used ladies undergarments" Wales said, settling into his seat again. England tried to do the same though he found it hard to lose his train of thought on the matter.

"…..How 'bout Matthew then?" Northern Ireland raised his head to throw England a filthy look. "You're both total opposites, you'd complete each other!" When nobody asked him to elaborate England cleared his throat and chose to anyway. "He's really big and you're really small." England illustrated this by first stretching his arms out, smacking Wales in the face as he did so, then drawing them back to his side and pinching his thumb and fore finger together to about an inch. "He's really quiet, and you're really fucking loud…excruciatingly so at times. He's well behaved and you're a bad little bugger."

"Oi."

"Don' interrup'…..he's blonde…you have this….red thing happening…what colour is that?" Wales shrugged. "plus he needs glasses…your eyes are like soddin' lasers." England used his fingers to form crude glasses and held them over his face. "It'd be like one of those Japanese picture books the kids like these days…what are they even called?"

"Mangoes." Wales responded, sounding fed up.

"Aye! Japanese mangoes." Northern Ireland almost corrected his mentor, realised that for England to be this deliriously talkative he must have been reaching alcohol saturation point, and any efforts made on his part would be in vain anyway. Plus the idea of him and Canada together was distracting and horrifying. He couldn't even decide who of the two of them would be on the top…

_Slam_.

Wales finally passed out, leaving Northern Ireland alone with his old man. The sudden desire for Scotland to be here and distract England with waves of insults and shouting suddenly seemed like a distant glorious world that was just too far away.

"Good lord…the old bloke keeled o'er." England said, leaning over and prodding at Wales, not unlike a beachcomber might do to a jellyfish but without the protection of a suitable stick. "I told 'im no' to drink so fucking much." Northern Ireland sighed watching as England yanked out his phone and started to play with it, possibly to tell Scotland about Wales passing out; thus was their level of maturity, and the teenager let his mind wander to the various conversations happening around the bar many in French, a few in English, all accents he recognised. He smiled and watched a couple giggle and swoon over each other just at the end of the counter. They kissed briefly and Northern Ireland looked away awkwardly, he never really understood affection, especially when it was outside the family, not that he talked to anyone who wasn't an older brother of some sort.

"-tthew! How are you?" Northern Ireland heard, loud and pompous and sounding so incredibly drunk that whoever was on the other end was likely to get a whiff of cider. "We're in Paris! Oh our usual little…family holiday thing. LISTEN...LISTEN…We were talking and I've decided…tha' you and Northern Ireland should sleep together!" Northern Ireland perked up, before whipping around to see that England was talking merrily on his phone, an expression of blissful ignorance, Northern Ireland suddenly wondered if cider didn't give England some strange booze induced form of schizophrenia. "..I know it's shor' notice ol' BEAN but you see he's having some….BODY ISSUES…I remember when you 'ad those." There was a long pause. "No 'merica never had that kind of-" The phone was ripped from England's hands and the older nation flailed after it meekly, arms flopping around like a comb over in a light breeze.

"Hallo? Ignore him, he's been drinking!"

_[I kinda gathered…] _There was a flash of irritation in Canada's voiced that unsettled Northern Ireland to no end_. [Are you doing okay, eh?] _Northern Ireland gulped, sudden mental images flashing in his head. He felt himself break out in a cold, intrusive sweat.

"Fine…perfectly fine."He rattled out,England was glaring at him now, and Northern Ireland wavered slightly, voice cracking, making him sound horribly hormonal. He felt himself flush. The awkward silence that fell between them was long and tense and Northern Ireland considered hanging up hastily.

_[Body issues, that's pretty serious.] _He suddenly heard Americas voice in the background, followed by Australia, they were both laughing and making impersonations of England's drunken ramblings.

"You have us on speaker phone…don't you?"

_[I'm sorry, North….] _America and Australia laughed even louder, and Northern Ireland scowled. _[Stop laughin' you guys, it's not funny, eh!]_

"I'm going to keep his phone away from him now…" England made a flabbergasted noise before going back to his booze, Northern Ireland saw his eyes flutter. "…sorry for the trouble." They exchanged embarrassed farewells, with each promising to call the other at some point during the next week, knew they'd both forget. He slipped the phone into his pocket, considered snapping it in half just in case. Wondered how well Canada, America and Australia would remember this at the next family reunion.

_Too well._

"…I'm going to go have a piss." England announced suddenly, and it was questionable whether he was simply sulking or not.

"Take yer time." Northern Ireland mumbled. Watched as England proceeded to trip over a chair and try to open a pull door by pushing on it. Northern Ireland decided that he just wasn't drunk enough for this and went to work remedying it.

A half an hour later and Northern Ireland found himself walking back, Wales and England were now best friends and had gone to work mutilating the national anthem loudly and out of tune. He was currently watching them paddle around in a fountain, their trousers rolled up, exposing unattractive, pale hairy legs, splashing each other with the freezing cold water and tittering over just how much they both hated Scotland and Ireland for being such lousy big brothers. Northern Ireland was guarding their socks and shoes, not sober enough to discourage such behaviour, but too sober to join in.

A comment was passed about Wales being a lousy big brother as well and England was shoved mercilessly into the water. "My arse is soaked ya' cock!" England snapped, and Northern Ireland watched as Wales tried to drag England to his feet; which were apparently more drunk than the rest of him as the blonde grabbed a hold of the Welshmen's arm and his unsteady weight managed to topple Wales over as well, his two older brothers wrestled awkwardly, swatting pitifully at each other before they silently seemed to realise how cold it was and scampered out. Their hair was soaked and they shivered intensely. Teeth chattering pitifully.

"You know wut…we shoul' head home." England said, he went about putting on his shoes without rolling down his beige trousers, Wales didn't seem to care. He waved to passers by who sped up and avoided eye contact. "I coul' do with some _tea_."

"Bloody people walkin' 'way from _me_." Wales snapped, raising his hands to his mouth and shouting, his hair still hanging around his shoulders in thick wet waves that were beginning to form ringlets as they dried. "..I'm the bloody principality of Wales! I deserve some respect!"

"….I say we go the fuck back." Northern Ireland said, wondering if Scotland was having as much fun as England and Wales. He smiled as England held his hand just a few small millimetres away from Wales' face, beaming widely.

"Em naw' touchin' yooooou!"

* * *

><p>If any of you have never had the pleasure of writing England and Wales getting stone cold drunk, I openly encourage it, as it is simply the most fun! The welsh listed here is little more than straight out swearing I got off the internet, the word Lloger is simply welsh for England. (apology's to the Welsh in advance for the misuse of your language, I love you all really!) and the word 'Bairn' is a word that means 'child' or 'baby.' Kennit?<p>

Until next chapter my dears!


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